


Father's Day

by GrayJay



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Other, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 08:22:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4214856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrayJay/pseuds/GrayJay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Matt remembers the firm, steady heartbeat: like a metronome, drowning out the overwhelming roar of the world.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Variations on the death of Battlin' Jack Murdock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Father's Day

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/1296.html?thread=1511696#cmt1511696
> 
> Inspired loosely by the _Doctor Who_ episode of the same title. I am the sad time-travel fairy forever.

_”I was thinking,” says Matt. He can hear the tremor in his own voice, wonders if Strange can hear it, too. “I was thinking about time travel.”_

_Strange cocks his head. “And?”_

_“And the timeline. And--things you could do. Without changing anything.”_

_“And?”_

_Matt takes a breath. Tries to hold his face steady. “And I know you can’t--save anyone. I know that.”_

_Strange nods, still waiting._

_“But if I promised--if I didn’t interact with anyone else--” He can sense Strange’s suspicion, hear his heartbeat jump. “Nothing stupid.”_

_“Matt,” says Strange._

_Part of him wants break it off there, apologize and run, but he’s come this far, so he braces himself, and mumbles, “I just don’t want him to have had to die alone.”_

 

1\. 

The first time, they’re too late. Matt can hear the police in the alley, and then a rush of lighter footsteps, a kid’s foosteps, _his_ footsteps. He listens to himself yelling, pushing past the police tape. It’s been almost thirty years, and Matt can still feel the blood on his father’s face, sticky against his fingertips. Crouched against a wall, shaking, he mouths every word along with the kid on the ground, until Strange drags him away.

 

2\. 

The alley is empty.

At first, Matt thinks they must have overshot, but then he hears the footsteps: unmistakable, even after all these years. His dad is hurrying--not running, just walking a beat faster than his usual clip, like he’s pretending it’ll make a difference, like he doesn’t already know he’s a dead man.

He knows. He must know: he took the time to shift the money to Matt’s name, to make sure everything was in place before he took out Creel. Jack’s heart is pounding like it’s trying to smash its way out of his chest, like it knows it’s only gonna get this one last big hurrah before the curtains and it’s trying to make the most of it, syncopating against his steady strides. Matt imagines that final walk, how it must have felt; and all he can think of are the nightmares where he knows something’s following, but he can’t let on, can’t run, just has to keep walking as he hears it get closer and closer.

That’s how Jack’s walking now.

When Matt hears the other two heartbeats, it’s not even a conscious decision. He can stop this. Save him. Why has he been training and fighting for so long, if not for _this_?

He’s sprinted two steps when Strange says a word, and Matt feels his feet lift above the asphalt. The harder he struggles, the tighter Strange’s spell holds him, but he doesn’t stop fighting, pounding against the magical restraints until his fists are bleeding, screaming voicelessly as he listens to his father die.

Finally, Strange lets him down.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

Matt can’t talk, just shakes his head.

“I can’t let you save him,” says Strange. “I’m sorry.”

Matt nods. “I know.”

Strange enfolds him in a stiff hug, and Matt folds into him and sobs.

“Are you ready to go home?” Strange asks, once Matt’s quiet again.

“One more time,” says Matt.

 

3.

The first thing he hears is the gunshot.

Two sets of footsteps walk away. A car starts. Matt runs, and this time, Strange lets him.

Jack Murdock is still breathing. Matt kneels and reaches for his father’s hand.

“Dad?” he says, his voice cracking.

It occurs to him that his father won’t recognize him, won’t recognize his voice, but Jack’s hand grips his, _hard_ , and Jack says, “Matty?”

“Yeah,” says Matt. “I’m here. It’s okay, Dad.”

“You’re all grown up,” says Jack. His voice catches.

“Yeah,” says Matt. “I’m--thanks to you. Law school. And everything.” He chokes on the last word, crying too hard to make the sound come out.

“Good boy,” says Jack. It’s not much more than a whisper. He’s breathing in short, shallow shudders, but somewhere he finds the will to reach a hand toward Matt’s face, pull Matt’s head down against his chest, the way he used to comfort him when Matt was little and the noise got to be too much to stand.

Matt remembers the firm, steady heartbeat: like a metronome, drowning out the overwhelming roar of the world. Now he listens, face buried in his father’s shirt, as it slows to silence.


End file.
